step by slow step

Several years ago our family had an incredible adventure.  We rafted into the Grand Canyon where after 6 days on the river, we then hiked 7 miles up the Kaibab Trail to the top.  It was hard, exciting, exhausting, beautiful and unforgettable.  I’ve remembered and learned from that experience over and over again.

The first part of the trip on the river was pure joy.  Slowly sinking into the heart of the earth, quietly allowing the river to take us into a whole different world, camping by the undulating constant flow of water made any problem you brought with you seem less crucial.  Even the white water stretches were exciting, not frightening.  But . . . when we reached the section of the river where we were to leave the rafts and begin our hike out, things changed.  I looked down at my two legs and thought . . . can these pitiful looking things get me out of here?  And to add to my concern, our river guides seemed unusually worried about our water provision.  They kept checking to be sure all our water bottles had electrolyte replacement added.  So, my already tentative confidence was compromised even further.  What if I couldn’t do this ?  But I didn’t have a choice. 

It was the only way.

In my determination to trust my legs to carry me,  I started out strong.  It was very hot and I quickly grew tired.  About half way up, I began to drag and could feel serious doubts building.  Then two things happened to boost my confidence.  First, a park ranger came down the trail on a mule telling us that they had put extra water up the trail for us.  Whew!  I drained one of my bottles and felt instantly better.  Then our daughter, who was several switchbacks ahead of us, came back to walk with us.  Her Peace-Corps -savvy-advice was to slow down . . . she reminded us that we had all the time we needed to get to the top.  With the assurance of the nourishment I needed and this wise and strong young woman joining us with her steady pace, I relaxed into the journey.  As my mind eased and my body found a more sustainable rhythm I could look around and see the amazing beauty of the canyon, notice how far I’d already come and feel the strength building within me to make it.

Grief is like that . . . while we didn’t train for this one and certainly never planned to take this journey, we can still find our way out of this abyss.  We can drink from the nourishment offered, listen to the advice of those who have traveled this road and welcome those who willingly walk with us to steady our pace.  And as we lean into the journey, we can find a way to relax, to listen with the ear of our heart to the precious voice of the one we miss encouraging us to keep going.  We can notice that while we may not be out of the depths yet and while we have moments when we must sit down and rest from the effort . . . still, we know we aren’t as breathless and frightened as we were in the beginning.   

Step by slow step . . . patience by compassionate patience . . . strength by soft strength we will make it.